But that strange mystic sleep all her senses had bound.

Day followed day until summer was gone,
And autumn still found her alone and asleep;
Stern winter soon followed, but its loud blasts and shrill,
Were powerless to rouse her from slumber so deep.

Again spring returns, and all nature revives,
And birds fill the groves with their music again;
But the eyes and the ears of that loved one are closed,
And on her these rich treasures are lavished in vain.

Unheeded by her the winter snow falls,
Its beautiful garment spring puts on in vain;
Many _summers_ the birds her sad requiem have sung,
But to sound of sweet music she'll ne'er wake again.

There is _but one voice_ that deep slumber can break,
'Tis the same one that loudly called, "Lazarus, come forth!"
At the sound of that voice all the dead shall arise,
And before God shall stand all the nations on earth.

Then shall this dear one, our first born, awake,
Her mortal put on immortality then;
And oh! blissful thought, that we once more may meet
In that home where's no parting, death, sorrow, or pain.

Weston, May 29, 1852.